


Sanctuary

by AEpixie7



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canonical Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Soulmates, Rescue, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 11:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17724617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AEpixie7/pseuds/AEpixie7
Summary: Crowley flees Europe during World War II. To Hawaii, at a REALLY bad time (poor unlucky bastard). Kushiel, the Angel of Punishment, assumes Pearl Harbor is Crowley's doing, and attacks him, very nearly killing him. Crowley invokes his right to Sanctuary, which only a willing angel can grant outside of a church. Who do you think he calls? Now it's up to Aziraphale to rescue him without making it look like a rescue to his fellow angels.





	Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Священная защита](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18549943) by [Liz_Taylors_Hamster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liz_Taylors_Hamster/pseuds/Liz_Taylors_Hamster)
  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授权翻译】Sanctuary 庇护](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19364848) by [GlaireG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlaireG/pseuds/GlaireG), [Leia_Karino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leia_Karino/pseuds/Leia_Karino)



Crowley shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing over his shoulder and quickening his pace. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck bristling in response to the presence that had seemed to be creeping nearer to him all evening. _I must have the worst bloody luck on Earth,_ he thought to himself as he turned another corner, his destination of little consequence.

Initially, when he had felt the angelic presence after leaving the diner, he had dared to feel hopeful. He hadn’t seen the daft old angel in over a year, not since Dunkirk. The War had taken its toll on both of them, and truth be told, Crowley was tired. He was tired of the constant orders from Below, tired of the rage and blood and violence. Tired of being berated by the onslaught of human capacity for hatred. Tired of trudging through cold muddy trenches and haughty board rooms to whisper in men's ears. But more than anything… he was tired of being alone. How he missed those peaceful afternoons at the Ritz, right plastered out of his mind and blubbering dim-witted conversations about… well anything really. He knew he still had unfinished assignments from Hell, but he had run anyway. He couldn’t take it anymore. His serpentine blood had been chilled since Poland. So he had run, clear across the globe, to a place where the warm sun and waves would drown out the echoes of canons and gunfire from his ears. Hawaii.

Worst. _Bloody._ Luck.

Crowley could hear the waves as he neared the beach, the tingling sensation now creeping from the back of his neck and down his spine, until his knees felt weak. This was definitely _not_ Aziraphale. He had only ever felt this kind of malice from the angel once, when he had inadvertently knocked a glass of wine over a table of recently restored books. Of course, his forgiveness was easily purchased with expensive sashimi and a nice sake.

No, this aura was far more intimidating. He had paid his tab at the greasy little diner even before his meal had come, though he wasn’t all that bothered by that. The tea was horrendous, he doubted the food would be any better. He made a mental note never to order tea at an American establishment again. 

His feet had carried him to the beach, and instead of winding his way back down dark alleys and side streets, he trudged out into the sand, his snakeskin shoes sinking as he turned. He walked lazily backwards, smirking at the empty parking lot near the beach, eerily deserted and lit by a single flickering street lamp. “I know you’re there!” he called, his tongue flicking involuntarily between his lips as he glanced around his periphery. Had there been a soul on the beach, they would have thought him mad- yelling at a seemingly barren beach. 

The heavy _fwoosh_ of wings was barely enough warning of the incoming blow. He was struck hard in the back and thrown forward into the sand, his hands digging into the grit. He turned quickly, swiping a leg out and catching the angel in the legs, sending him toppling over. Crowley crawled quickly to pin his nemesis down, and raised a hand to strike. His wrist was caught and halted by something that immediately burned, and he was yanked back into the sand, the downed angel jumping lithely to his feet. Crowley glanced up at his wrist to see what appeared to be an ordinary rope, but the skin around it stung, and blood was beginning to seep between the wrapped up layers of it. He followed the line of rope up to the second angel, who stood sneering down at him. The angel pulled gently on the rope, causing it to dig into his skin. Crowley yelped and wrapped his other hand around his wrist in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain. He could tell by the way his skin was burning that they had blessed the rope. _They came here with the intention of hunting a demon._

“Alright! Enough! You caught me!” he hissed, and the angels paused, surprised to hear him speak. “Look I didn’t come here to cause any trouble, I swear. I just…”

“Truly?!” his captor barked, followed by a mirthless laugh. “You truly expect us to believe that you, spawn of Hell, ran from the War, and within days, the war follows you here? To provoke the greatest military power currently on Earth? You lot are thicker than I thought,” the angel sneered, pulling the rope again for good measure. Crowley grimaced, but was able to bite back the cry of pain that bubbled up in his throat. The blood from his wrist was now dripping from his skin and soaking into the sand. He gingerly pulled his legs beneath him and tried to stand, still cradling his captured wrist, but before he could get to his feet, the angel behind him kicked the back of his legs, sending him to his knees. Crowley tossed the angel a glare, but then realized it was probably lost behind his dark glasses. 

“Believe whatever you like, but it’s the truth. I didn’t do this. This was all humanity. Your boss’s favorite little pet project. Now if you think I'm not taking credit for it just based on my vicinity to the atrocity, then you’re being daft,” he mused with an evil grin. The angel behind him struck without warning, stepping forward and catching Crowley's jaw with a cruel closed fist. Crowley was sent sprawling into the sand once more, this time tasting the grit as it mixed with the coppery blood now coating his lips. 

“You think this is funny, _demon?_ ” The angel snarled, his sunny ginger hair falling into his face as he seethed. He knelt beside Crowley, yanking his head back by a fistful of his hair. Crowley didn’t even consider what he did next. It wasn’t something he enjoyed doing, but Ginger's smug face was just asking for it. He spat venom in the angel's eyes, followed by a threatening _hisssss._ The angel fell backwards, howling in pain, as his counterpart wrapped the rope in his hand around his wrist in preparation for an attack, but Crowley used it against him. He jumped up to his feet and yanked the rope, hard, pulling the angel toward him with force. He brought his knee up to contact the angel's face as he fell, sending him to the sand, clutching at his broken nose. Crowley had almost gotten his hand free of the rope when another whipped around his ankle.  
“Shit,” he spat, just as his feet were pulled out from under him. He let out another involuntary hiss as he squirmed against the ropes, but both were soon pulled taught, pinning him like snared prey. 

“Well, well, what do we have here?” came a mysterious, much more alarmingly calm voice. The third angel emerged from the darkness, tossing a long golden dagger up into the air and catching it easily. Crowley's confidence in his ability to fight off this little rabble of angels was quickly dwindling. The other two buffoons seemed easy enough to defeat, and until now he hadn’t doubted his ability to either fight or negotiate his way out of this predicament. But three angels? And the aura around this newest foe screamed ‘Archangel.’

“The serpent of Eden?!” the angel cooed, kneeling in front of Crowley and taking his jaw roughly in his hand. “Such lovely eyes. What a beautiful reminder of our Lord's justice.”

Crowley's eyes flickered to his glasses where they imbedded in the sand- they must have been thrown in the scuffle. 

“Ashamed of them, are you? How delectable. Only God could come up with such a brilliant display of punishment-- that you would still be ashamed of it six thousand years later.”

The angel released Crowley's jaw and stood, once again turning his dagger in his hands. Crowley could feel the panic beginning to overtake his being. His escape routes were slowly becoming more far-fetched, and this new angel was serious business. And besides, the blessed ropes holding him were depleting his demonic energy. If he was going to take on three angels, he needed all his strength. He had to act, and fast. 

The lead angel approached the first, and inspected where Crowley's venom had scalded him. The rope the lesser angel had been holding slackened as he was attended to, and Crowley jumped on his opportunity. He materialized his wings, and pushed hard off the ground. Both angels tried to hold him, but their surprise made them vulnerable. They both beat their wings and wildly scrambled for the ropes, trying to pull Crowley back down. He thrust his wings with all his might, gritting his teeth against the searing pain as the ropes dug into his wrist and ankle. Both angels were losing hold, and Crowley could see their fingers losing their grip. _Almost there…_

Crowley’s heart jumped up into his throat as the Archangel approached his colleague and calmly took hold of the rope around Crowley’s wrist. He was yanked to the ground, and within an instant, found himself pinned, a knee dug into his back, and both wrists tied tightly behind him. His wings beat hard in retaliation, until the angel procured a blessed sword and impaled it through his right wing and deep into the sand. His throat burned from the scream that tore itself from his lungs. It was silenced by the molten hot metal of the dagger at his neck, the Archangel hovering next to his ear. “Any last words, _demon?_ ”

Crowley could feel the pounding of his heart in his veins, the burning of his skin from a Holy weapon, and couldn’t help the tears that welled in the corners of his eyes. _This is it. This is where it ends. Six thousand years… I'll never drive that beautiful Bentley again. Never share a drink with the most insufferable angel on the planet. Oh God, Aziraphale. He’ll never even know what happened to me. This will destroy him…_

“Sanctuary,” Crowley choked, and the angel froze. 

“What did you say?” he whispered, his dagger moving slightly closer to Crowley’s skin and causing it to sizzle. 

“Sanctuary. I invoke sanctuary,” he stuttered, his voice breaking from fear. The angel remained unmoved for a moment, and Crowley almost expected him to slit his throat anyway. The sarcastic smile was evident in the angel’s voice when he spoke.

“You can’t invoke sanctuary. You’d need to be in a church. Or an angel can grant it but…”

“Aziraphale. The Angel of the Eastern Gate,” Crowley blurted, and he felt the angel's knee in his back shift, though he did not remove the knife from its proximity to his throat. The silence that followed was deafening. 

“Why would any angel grant a _demon_ sanctuary? That would reflect very poorly on him, and Aziraphale's reputation is, well, not the cleanest since the whole 'flaming sword' debacle.”

Crowley knew the position he was putting Aziraphale in. This angel very clearly outranked him, and requesting this kind of refuge could very well damn him, if he granted it. But Crowley had been thrust before the void of nothingness, and it had broken him. 

“I’ve requested it, you have to see it through…”

“I don’t _have_ to do anything. You’re a _demon,_ ” the angel spat, the word sounding more like a curse. “You don’t deserve the same leniencies as the rest of God's creatures…”

“I was an angel once. I was made in His image, just like you. More than that, I'm familiar with your stupid rules. And if there’s one thing your _Lord_ doesn’t take kindly to, it’s his angels ignoring them. Trust me, I would know.”

The angel was silent again, but his fellow angels crept forward, their eyes narrowed in concern. _They believe me,_ Crowley thought triumphantly, though he couldn’t feel any sort of relief until that damn dagger relented. 

What felt like centuries passed, until finally the Archangel growled loudly, allowing the dagger to dig barely into his skin before pulling it reluctantly away.  
Crowley huffed a loud breath of relief, though now that the threat of the dagger was removed, all he could feel was the pulsing pain in his wrists and ankles, but more so in his right wing. He ventured a glance at it, and nearly gagged. Not only was the sensitive skin of his wing literally retreating from the blessed blade, and blood gushing forth, his feathers were smoldering. He tried to stifle the whimper as he forced himself to look away. 

“How long do you think it would take an angel to fly here from Europe, would you say?” the Archangel asked his associates absently, miracling a pen and parchment from thin air, the pen scratching against the page frantically. The angel whose nose Crowley had broken was still wiping blood from his face, and the blood did little to lessen the amused sneer that he gave his superior. “Well, any of us could probably make it in a couple hours, but for that particular Cherub…” he trailed off, smiling haughtily at his own joke. Crowley felt the immediate need to break more bones in that specific angel's body.

“Oh for Satan's sake, I’m starting to remember why I fell,” Crowley drawled, pulling all three angels' attention toward him. “So I wouldn’t have to listen to your caustic prattle anymore.”

The Archangel's lips curled slightly up at one corner, though it was clearly not an amused grin. He chuckled darkly, rolling the piece of parchment in his hands and pressing a ring on his pinky finger to the seal, burning an emblem into it. He tossed a hand nonchalantly, miracling the decree out of immediate existence. He tucked his hands confidently in his pockets as he approached the downed demon, and Crowley began to feel an encroaching regret for his taunt.

“Tell you what,” the angel mused, kneeling in front of Crowley and drawing his dagger, raking the tip of it threateningly along Crowley’s neck and shoulder.  
“If Aziraphale can get here in the next two hours, I'll humor your little request. But if not…” He trailed the tip of the dagger back, across Crowley’s shoulder blade, and tapped his one free wing with the broad side.  
“I am going to cut your wings, slowly, from your back, and then I’m going to sink this dagger into your heart, and wipe you from existence.”

Crowley tried not to react to the threat and give the angel the pleasure of his fear, but he could hear the soft rustle of feathers as his free wing trembled involuntarily from the touch of the dagger. 

The angel stood, approaching the sword that impaled his right wing. “Until then, you will keep your opinions to yourself,” he growled, gripping the handle and twisting the blade, tearing open a larger wound. Crowley screamed, the sound choking off at the end into a sob.

“Understand, _demon?_ ” the angel paused, and when he didn’t get a response, twisted the blade again. 

“Yes!” Crowley cried, his entire body starting to shake. “I… understand…” he whimpered, tears streaming down his cheeks. The Archangel smiled wickedly, and released his grip on the hilt. 

“Oh, how I hope the Principality never shows up. You are way too much fun to torment,” he chided, and Crowley couldn’t help but recoil slightly. In his professional experience, provoked angels were far more terrifying than demons. 

Crowley was thrust into every needle point of pain once the silence fell. He could do nothing but focus on the blessed restraints, slowly sinking into the skin of his wrists and ankles, and _fucking hell_ his wing. He had never felt such pain, and it seemed only to throb worse and worse by the minute. He could feel his outer extremities tingling with numbness, and the shivers began not long after that. Blood loss was taking his minimal serpentine body heat and making it almost non-existent. He couldn’t tell how much blood he'd lost, but when the ringing started in his ears, he curled his legs beneath him and pushed himself, to the best of his ability around his bound arms and legs, to his knees. He whimpered as the movement shifted his wing against the blade. He hated how desperate his voice had become. 

“Angel,” he whispered, his uncontrollable shaking causing his breaths to come out more like hollow wheezing. The tears kept pouring from his eyes, even though he felt completely past the point of emotional devastation.

The Archangel approached, his hands still comfortably lodged in his pockets. 

“Please. The sword,” he begged, his wing twitching and causing him to yelp. “ _Please._ ”

The angel's eyes flickered to the sword, and the massive pool of blood that gathered in the sand beneath its black feathers, and back to Crowley. 

“I’m impressed. Took almost an hour for you to start begging,” he smiled, before turning back to his fellow angels with disdain. Crowley was beginning to wonder just who the hell this angel was, and how he could get away with this level of viciousness and cruelty. Crowley himself had fallen for less. 

_And it has only been one hour._

That realization hit him like a mortar shell. It had felt like centuries. His entire body was trembling uncontrollably, and he had long since lost feeling in his hands and feet. A cold sweat had begun to drench his neck and back, chilling him to his core. He had seen enough men die on the battlefield to know that his corporation was in the beginning stages of shock. He was also familiar enough with celestial weapons to know it wasn’t just his corporation that was dying. Injuries caused by any sort of blessed weapon, even if they were superficial, would continue to deplete his demonic energy until there was nothing left. He wouldn’t be discorporated. He would just cease to be.  
He curled in on himself, still kneeling in the sand, and tried to take steady breaths- maybe slow the process. At this rate, he may not even make it until Aziraphale arrived. 

_If_ Aziraphale arrives.

A convulsive shiver wracked his body at the thought. _What if he’s not coming? Granting sanctuary to a demon would tip off the angels, and probably his superiors, to their little Arrangement. What if Aziraphale couldn’t take that risk? Would he dare even try, for one demon? Yes, a demon he’d known for millenia, but…_

_I'm not worth it. I'm not worth the risk._

_I should never have gotten him involved. I should’ve just let them kill me. He would’ve never known. This way he’s probably still stuck somewhere on the front lines, fighting the good fight in this bloody war. But he knows what’s happening to his friend. And it’s probably killing him.  
I’m not worth it._

More convulsions overtook him, and he saw spots appearing behind his eyelids. His torso wavered, on the brink of unconsciousness, but the yank of his wing against the blade as he teetered on the edge of collapse jolted his attention solely back on the blinding pain. 

He didn’t know how many times he slipped into near unconsciousness, but finally he couldn’t take it anymore. He tried desperately to immaterialize his wings. Their corporeal form flickered for an instant, but they wouldn’t disappear. He concentrated all his energy with a pained growl on his wings, not really caring that it had drawn the attention of the angels. His wings almost faded entirely away, but the sword seemed to glow at the challenge, and when his wings reappeared, the skin and feathers in immediate contact burned, the blood beneath starting to boil. Crowley let loose another ear piercing scream, and began thrashing against his restraints. He tried to shift into snake form, his fangs emerging and dripping venom. His scream molded into a threatening hiss, until his fangs receded and his body went limp. He choked on his own venom, his corporation spent of all its energy. He tried to signal it to keep fighting, but it wouldn’t respond. Only his lungs were still working feverishly, taking short, quick gasps.

“Now this is just getting sad,” the Archangel purred, turning his dagger in his hand as he knelt in the sand and looked over the pitiful demon, collapsed in his own pool of blood. “And I’m sorry to break it to you, but time…”

He toyed with the tip of the dagger, a small droplet of blood appearing on his fingertip in a quiet display of its lethality.

“ _Is up…_ ”

“ _KUSHIEL!_ ”

The Archangel's head whipped to the side, the dagger dropping from his hand in surprise.

“Step away from the demon!”

Crowley felt the wind and sand kick up in a whirlwind all around him as Aziraphale landed hard, his voice booming with hostility. 

“ _NOW,_ ” Aziraphale snarled, his blue eyes fixed on Kushiel like a predator eyes its prey. Kushiel let out a disbelieving scoff, before he retrieved his dagger and stood slowly, wiping the sand from the knees of his suit.

“Aziraphale, I must admit I'm surprised to see you. Don’t you uh…” he came to a halt in front of Aziraphale, crossing his arms arrogantly and turning his nose up. “Don’t you have much more important things to attend to in Europe? Say, a little scuffle that seems to be happening amongst the humans?”

Aziraphale did not seem to appreciate the sarcasm. “Yes, I do. As do we all. Which is why I’m quite baffled as to why… _three_ angels could be spared from their duties during this very trying time… to hunt a single demon?”

Kushiel seemed to think over Aziraphale's statement, and when he realized he had no retort, stepped precariously into Aziraphale's personal space. “Well consider me equally as perplexed that you would abandon your God-given duties to fly, at quite the velocity I might add, clear across the globe to _a demon's aid,_ ” Kushiel leaned closer to Aziraphale, his voice getting lower as he advanced, until his face was inches away.

Aziraphale held his gaze and maintained a maddeningly emotionless expression, knowing full well he was being searched for any sign of weakness. 

“This particular demon is my responsibility. My mission which, since the days of Eden, supersedes anything else I have been assigned. This Earth is _my_ jurisdiction, as the angel that God himself chose to watch over it. My job, which I take very seriously, is to thwart any deeds that Hell sends their Earthbound demon to see done, and if you try to take that assignment from me without my consent, I shall see to it that our superiors… _reexamine_ your position among our ranks.”

Kushiel continued to search Aziraphale's face, before he bit his lip and chuckled, taking one small step back. He opened his mouth to speak, but Aziraphale cut him off.

“What's he done?” 

Crowley flinched from his friend's words. Aziraphale couldn't truly believe he'd done anything to deserve this… could he?

“You can't be serious,” Kushiel said, placing his hands on his hips in feigned amusement.

“As my responsibility… I will see to it that he is punished for any of his wiles. What is it that he has done?”

“You really don’t know do you?” Kushiel said, shaking his head. Aziraphale grew impatient and annoyed.

“Know what?”

“You haven’t heard what happened here?”

“Excuse me for not being up-to-date on current events, I’ve spent the better part of a year soothing the souls of dying soldiers on the front lines. Young, _innocent_ soldiers. So you’ll forgive my ignorance,” he spat, his words dripping with disdain. 

“Three days ago this demon fled the fighting in Europe. Then yesterday, Japan attacked this island with no apparent provocation, inciting the largest military power on Earth to get involved. Promising _years_ more of wrath, pride, envy, and greed. Tens of thousands more innocent soldiers' souls… you can’t tell me that’s a coincidence?”

Aziraphale swallowed hard, and finally broke the embattled eye contact he had been holding with his counterpart. He said nothing to the angel, and instead strode purposefully to where Crowley lay motionless on the ground. He knelt before his friend, and when he noticed Crowley had lost consciousness, placed a hand gently on his shoulder. Crowley jolted awake, and Aziraphale felt instant pity for the state he was in. His aura was weaker than he'd ever felt it. 

“Crowley I need you to tell me the truth,” he whispered, his voice low enough that none of the other angels could hear him. “Did you do this?” he asked with conviction, the weight of every word clearly hanging on his voice. Crowley took a shaky breath in, and weakly shook his head _no._ A moment of deep sadness flashed across Aziraphale’s face, and he spread his wings out behind him, shrouding his next move from the other angels. He placed a hand gently under Crowley’s chin, his thumb wiping away the tears that lingered on his cheek. “I believe you. I’ll take care of this,” he whispered, his eyes lingering on the grievous wound to Crowley's wing before he stood and turned to face the angels, planting his feet firmly in the sand, his wingspan creating a barrier between the other angels and Crowley. 

“It wasn’t him,” he said, his fists clenching nervously as the other two angels flanked either side of Kushiel. 

“Well of course he says he didn’t do it! He'd never admit to it in front of angels! And why are you taking up for him anyway Aziraphale, honestly?! If you really consider him your mission, then you should be flattered I was doing you a favor. I’m starting to question what exactly your relationship to this _hellspawn_ really is.”

“There is nothing worth questioning other than the truth. And the truth is this demon is far from innocent. But he is innocent of _this_ deed, that I am certain. I have followed his path through six millennia. I know what he is capable of, and this isn’t it. This is humanity, flawed as God made it. And if you wrongly persecute Crowley for it, it is _you_ whose soul is in question,” Aziraphale reached pointedly into the breast pocket of his coat, and reemerged with a pocket Bible, holding it face up with his right hand over the cover.

“Oh no you don’t,” Kushiel barked, drawing his dagger and advancing on Aziraphale, who stood his ground.

“Kushiel, you wouldn’t dare harm another angel would you?” Aziraphale taunted, halting the Archangel in his tracks. He seemed to seethe over Aziraphale's words.

“Aziraphale, move out of the way. I am going to wipe this _creature_ from existence so he can’t ever cause harm again.”

“He has requested sanctuary, you can’t touch him until the request is granted or denied.”

“I can and I will. Those rules apply to mortal beings, not this, this… _snake._ ”

“ _I say unto you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you,_ ” Aziraphale urged, as Kushiel drew ever closer, his dagger gleaming in the moonlight. “Do not the Fallen Ones deserve our mercy most of all?” Aziraphale asked, his voice finally cracking and betraying his forced confidence. He swallowed hard as Kushiel brought the blade up between them, the tip pointed vaguely at his throat.

“No. They don’t. And I swear to you… If you do this-- grant asylum to a _demon,_ the Lord will hear of it, I shall be vindicated. Mark my words… I _will_ see you felled.”

Aziraphale stood motionless, his chest rising and falling quicker as his hand began to lightly tremble atop his Bible. His eyes darted to the two angels behind Kushiel, then back to Crowley, who was once again deathly still. “Perhaps you're right…” Aziraphale whispered, and Kushiel smiled from ear to ear. 

“ _Finally._ You are being made to see _reason…_ ”

“By the power vested in me by Our Lord, God…”

“ _For Christ's sake, Aziraphale!_ ”

“I herby take this creature under my wing. No harm shall come to him. No retribution nor censure shall befall him while I am present. My protection is absolute and will not be removed until such time as the immediate threat has dissipated or the demon refuses my aid."

Kushiel snarled in anger, his knuckles turning white around the hilt of his dagger, the blade trembling from rage as it grazed Aziraphale's lapel.

“Don’t you _dare,_ Aziraphale…”

Aziraphale swallowed a lump in his throat, and trudged on.

“Sanctuary is granted.”

Kushiel stood frozen in disbelief, before a truly disturbing smile crept onto his lips. He backed away from Aziraphale, waving the dagger at him as he began laughing, louder and louder until it became frantic. He turned away from Aziraphale, and even his companion angels backed away from his deranged energy.

“Now you’ve done it, haven’t you, Principality.”

“I have. Now release him.”

Kushiel whipped around, malice in his eyes, which Aziraphale attempted to return, but he had a feeling it looked more intimidated than confident. He had just given _an order_ to an Archangel who severely outranked him.

Kushiel held his gaze for only a moment, laughing in disbelief, before approaching Crowley and using his dagger to slice the ropes from his wrists and ankles. He stopped near Crowley’s wing, digging the toe of his shoe into the blood soaked sand and seeming to revel in its color. He yanked the sword roughly from Crowley’s wing, earning a pitiful whimper from the demon. He tilted his head curiously at the blood that oozed down the blade, approached Aziraphale, and wiped it on his coat sleeve. Aziraphale looked down at his coat, but bit back the words that threatened to escape.

“I _truly_ hope to see you again, Aziraphale. When your wings are burning and they won’t catch you as you fall, ring by ring, deeper into Hell.”

Aziraphale took a shaky breath in, steeling himself and replacing his Bible to his pocket. “My conscience is clear. You are the one who tortured this poor creature, for a crime he did not commit. And what’s more, you enjoyed it. Your lust for punishment is downright unholy. One day, your methods will get you damned.”

“And on that day, Aziraphale,” Kushiel said, sliding his dagger into a sheath at his hip and placing an aggressive hand on Aziraphale's shoulder. “On that day… I will see you in Hell.” 

He turned to his companions, motioned his jaw upwards, and before another word could be spoken, all three disappeared into the night sky. 

Aziraphale finally released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His heart was still pounding, and an impending dread crept into his subconscious. He truly believed every word he had spoken. He was defending a (somewhat) innocent demon, and also his mission as the Earthbound ward of Heaven. But underneath everything, the truth had its icy fingers wrapped tightly around his heart. That he had indeed flown clear across the globe, possibly exposing his millenia-old Arrangement to one of the most horrifying angels in existence, risked his very angelic nature… to save his best friend. Who was a demon. For no other reason than… because he had asked him to.

“Crowley I do hope you realize the gravity of the position you've put me in,” Aziraphale said as he stared up into the blackness of the sky where the angels had departed. He heard a pitiful sob behind him and turned, the sight hitting him in the chest like an anvil. _Now is not the time for anger._

He approached his friend, who was weakly trying to push himself up onto trembling arms. “I’m ssssssorry, angel,” Crowley whimpered, his arms barely able to hold his weight as he shook terribly. Aziraphale dropped to his knees and grabbed Crowley by the arms just as he collapsed again. “I’m sssssso… ssssssorry...” he cried, tears streaming down his face. Aziraphale's heart was breaking as he pulled Crowley, limp and trembling, into his chest. 

“Hush now. It’s alright,” he said, stroking Crowley’s hair. Crowley clung desperately to Aziraphale's shirt, his hissing getting worse and his breaths coming in uneven gasps. “I sh… should never ha…ve involved you in… thissss…” Crowley stammered, and quietly muttered “ _not worth it…_ ” as his grip on Aziraphale’s shirt slackened. Aziraphale pulled back in a panic, and found Crowley’s eyes fluttering closed. He felt the demon's aura flicker completely dark, and at the same time his angelic hearing pulled his attention to a very sudden lack of heartbeat.

“No no no _no God no,_ ” Aziraphale pressed his hand over Crowley’s heart, and poured healing energy into it. Crowley jolted back awake, his eyes wide with pain as he choked and coughed. Aziraphale went to remove his hand from Crowley’s chest and attend to his other injuries, but his heart refused to beat on its own. “Oh no you don't you old serpent. Don’t you die on me,” Aziraphale whimpered, keeping his hand hovering over Crowley’s chest as he gently laid him down in the sand, his other hand reaching for Crowley’s right wrist. He wrapped his fingers carefully over the wound he found there, urging more healing energy into it. His brow furrowed and sweat started to bead on his forehead as he poured his angelic energy into the wounds, until the skin on Crowley’s wrists was mended and blood no longer gushed from them. He tested Crowley’s heart by pulling his hand cautiously away. His heart was beating on its own, but it was weak and sluggish. Aziraphale crawled quickly toward Crowley’s feet and mended the wounds around his ankles, and when he went to stand and inspect the most grievous wound to Crowley’s wing, found himself unable to stay on his feet. He fell forward, his head swimming, but he forced himself to crawl toward Crowley's wing. _I’ve already used too much energy._

Aziraphale gagged when he saw the wound. The feathers around it had burned, as had the skin and muscle beneath, though it appeared that his wing had tried to heal itself, only to be burned and torn open, over and over, by the celestial blade. The feathers that were still intact around it were glistening and soggy with blood. _Oh… so much blood._

Crowley groaned, and Aziraphale crawled up behind him, pulling him into his lap with a grunt. Aziraphale positioned his own wing, and tried to gently ease it beneath Crowley's. Crowley cried out from the movement, his hand darting up and clutching Aziraphale's coat sleeve. “I know, my dear, I’m sorry,” Aziraphale whispered, unable to stop the tears that had begun to fall from his own eyes. _I’ve used too much angelic power to heal the other wounds. I can’t fix this._

He panted and tried to divert Crowley’s attention by smoothing his dark hair and gently rocking him. He screamed as he poured all his energy into his own wing, until it began to glow softly, Crowley’s wing cradled against it slowly beginning to mend. Aziraphale could feel his own heartbeat slowing the longer he held the energy in his wing. His vision blurred and his head grew foggy as he choked on the effort of concentrating so hard on healing, even though his own body had started to fail.

“Aziraphale… stop…” Crowley begged weakly, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but obey, no matter how much he tried not to. “This doesn’t count as a rescue if you kill yourself. And I can’t rob you of the opportunity to make me pay your tab at the Ritz for the foreseeable future…” Crowley joked, his weak laugh melding into a cough. Aziraphale smiled, his tiny chuckle fading into a gasp as he tried to compose himself. The two were quiet for a long while, the rhythmic crashing of waves drowning out their pained breaths. 

Aziraphale considered everything he’d done. He knew he should feel guilty or frightened of the consequences, but he couldn’t feel anything other than blinding, all-encompassing relief. That he hadn’t let his friend die here, at the merciless hands of his own brethren. He glanced down at Crowley, once again unconscious in his arms. 

“You _are_ worth it, my dear,” he whispered, gathering Crowley in his arms and carrying him, with some effort, toward the waves. He trudged into the water, tightening his grip on Crowley when the salt water hit his wing. He jolted awake and hissed in pain, but relaxed into his friend as the water cleansed his feathers of the clotted blood that clung there. He hummed appreciatively, his head resting on Aziraphale's shoulder as he began slowly moving his wing and testing its mobility. 

“Better?”

“Mmhmm,” Crowley groaned, his expression pained but also immensely grateful. Aziraphale didn’t know if he had done enough to help, but he'd be damned if he left Crowley here alone any time soon. Kushiel had seemed hell bent on destroying him, and something told Aziraphale he wouldn’t just let it go. Besides, there were bound to be countless suffering souls after the attack that Crowley had been blamed for. A new mission had presented itself here. But all that in good time. 

“Crowley…”

“Mm?”

"I could really use a drink.”

“ _Christ_ , me too let's go.”


End file.
